Franks poems are presented to the reader like a bouquet of flowers of various hues and breeds. Some exude the fragrance of roses, and others conjure up thistles. They were planted in the soil of youth and watered with the trials of early adulthood, where they were plucked out of the pages of the earth after enduring storm and stress. Some are as prickly as cacti, others as gay and playful as dandelions. They touch on his early probes into psychology, philosophy, pop culture and his burgeoning awareness of those primordial drives that inform us all with their rude awakening. All of them seem anchored to some sort of conceit that make them entertaining formally as well as textually. They emerge as fallible as human nature despite their at times didactic appearance. So enjoy this big bouquet of poesies.